


Archamus

by Immanuel



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Gen, Imperial Fists - Freeform, not that Archamus though, pretending The Beast Arises had actual consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10166609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immanuel/pseuds/Immanuel
Summary: Chapter Master Vorn Hagen confronts the Imperial Fists' past as he appoints a new Praetorian of the Huscarl honour guard.





	

_“Who cannot remember the past is condemned to repeat it.”_

970.M41  
_Phalanx_ , in orbit above Drashin

THE EMPEROR’S CHAMPION bars the entrance to the Temple of Oaths. His hands rest on the pommel of the _Black Sword_ , the sacred blade held at rest, but never sheathed. That blade, once wielded by Chapter Master Koorland, has stood vigil over the temple for over nine thousand years.  
  Within the temple, Vorn Hagen considers the meaning of the blade and its bearer. His perspective has changed recently, and the new knowledge itches like the raw flesh of his scarred left hand. Since swearing his oath, he has learned that the Black Templars send the Emperor’s Champion to guard the temple not in memory of Sigismund, but as a reminder to the Master of the Imperial Fists.  
  The Imperial Fists have died before.  
  They are no less sons of Dorn, and Hagen cannot dishonour the other successors by feeling diminished, but the burden weighs heavily on him. It feels like a betrayal that the truth was only revealed after he had carved his name into the hand of Rogal Dorn. Could he have done it, if he had known? All that is left now is to live up to the stolen legacy as best he can. To regain the certainty he felt when he made his mark next to that of his predecessor, Vladimir Pugh.  
  He will need to return to the pain glove soon, to meditate on his doubts. Until then, there are many duties that vie for the attention of the new Chapter Master. Perhaps none so solemn as the oath he is about to receive.  
  Hagen takes up steel and flint from the edge of the brazier before him. Sparks ignite a blaze that illuminates pillars of black stone, each bearing a spiral of names that rises up into the darkness from which the banners of a thousand victories hang.  
  “Approach and enter,” the Emperor’s Champion intones, stepping to one side of the archway to allow the bulk of a warrior in indomitus-pattern terminator armour to enter. The lingering echo of heavy footsteps in the vaulted chamber fades as the sergeant of the Huscarls stops two paces from the brazier.  
  Like Hagen, Jorgen Santus wears no helm and carries no weapon. Sergeant and chapter master lock eyes across the flickering fire.  
  “I summoned the Master of the Huscarls.”  
  Santus does not reply. He reaches into the folds of his cloak and produces a skeletal left hand clenched into a fist suspended from a length of silver chain. The bones are finely scrimshawed, centuries of service recounted in intricate script. Each of the surviving Huscarls will have been given the honour of carving a passage, Santus himself finishing the last words before the preparations for Lord Pugh’s interment began.  
  Hagen saw Archamus fall. He will hear how it happened again, though that is not what truly matters. It only matters why.  
  “Did he fulfil his oath as Praetorian of Vladimir Pugh?”

Archamus swung _Oathword_ into the oncoming tide of gaunts, the dense stone of a dead world shattering chitinous plates and crushing abominable xeno-flesh. It bought him precious seconds to get his bearings. Over the swarming Tyranids he saw a golden phalanx advancing into the chamber headed by Captain Lysander. If they could link up with Lord Pugh’s forces, they might yet succeed in reaching the norn queen. Like a monstrous spider lurking at the centre of its web, she was more than just the focal node of the swarm – to all intents and purposes, she _was_ the swarm.  
  Lord Pugh must have reached the same conclusion, for he raised the _Hand of Judgement_ and cried “Forward!” The remains of the first and fifth companies rallied behind him.  
Larger beasts pressed forward in ever greater numbers, the sea of gaunts parting at the will of the hive mind to allow them to reach the Imperial Fists. Perceiving the danger, the norn queen sent forth a hive tyrant to block the chapter master’s path. Pugh was thrown back by the sheer bulk of the beast as it charged, and the Huscarls hurried to his side.  
  “Santus, Donadar – with me!” Archamus called to the nearest of Pugh’s honour guard. He could not risk distracting the chapter master from the duel with the tyrant, but there were other, less obvious threats to guard against.  
  Hidden by the bulk of the hive tyrant, a carnifex was lumbering forward with deadly momentum. Archamus moved to intercept, flanked by Santus and Donadar, raising a shield wall in the path of the living battering ram. It was too late for the carnifex to steer aside and it collided with the locked storm shields of the Huscarls with the roar of a predator denied its prey. The thunderous impact sent Santus and Donadar staggering backwards.  
  Protected by the unmatched craftsmanship of the _Shield Eternal_ , Archamus held his ground. It was this that doomed him. Even as he raised _Oathword_ to strike a blow in retaliation, the carnifex scythed its great, curved talons down over the edge of the shield. A blade sharper than bone had any right to be sliced through the armourflex seal at the shoulder, exposed by Archamus’ backswing, and plunged deep into his torso behind the cuirass. The other slammed into his head, skittering across the helm’s ceramite plate to lodge between neck and shoulder.  
  Archamus felt his left arm go limp. The _Shield Eternal_ wavered. Seeing its opening, the carnifex landed a flurry of blows with its secondary blade-limbs, feral rage driving them through the joints in otherwise inviolate armour. As he fell, the Master of the Huscarls saw Lord Pugh step forward over the hive tyrant’s corpse with the Huscarls at his side. Without the element of surprise, and with talons still embedded in Vladimir Pugh’s Praetorian, the carnifex had no defence to offer as the Master of the Imperial Fists raised the Hand of Judgement to strike.

Vorn Hagen is silent for a long moment. His eyes give no clue to his thoughts as he considers what he has been told. It is curious to hear the tale told as one of victorious sacrifice when he knows that mere moments later Lord Pugh was claimed by the claws of other enemies. Whether for a second or a century, a moment or a millennium, it is the duty of the Praetorian to die so that the Master of the Imperial Fists may live. The oath was fulfilled, and Hagen judges that there is no cause to interfere with the succession.  
  “Do you wish to give me your oath as my Praetorian?”  
  Sergeant Santus answers by stepping forward and removing the gauntlet from his left hand. He meets Hagen’s eyes and does not flinch as he thrusts his bared fist into the brazier. The fire crackles as it claws at exposed flesh.  
  “What are you afraid of?” Hagen asks. It is a curious question for a space marine to be confronted with. He wonders what answer he would find worthy. He wonders what answers have been given to others before him, and if he would agree with his predecessors. The answer to that question is the only part of the exchange not recorded in the chapter archives.  
  “Repeating the mistakes of the past,” Santus replies without hesitation. “Allowing my errors to persist, when they should inform my betterment.”  
  The ghost of a smile crosses stern features. Hagen knows truth when he hears it spoken and nods, approving. He does not doubt the question has gnawed at the sergeant as it has him, and is pleased, even impressed, with the clarity, the surety, of the answer. It is a matter that has been on his own mind of late. Removing his left gauntlet, he grasps the blackened fist of his new Praetorian.  
  “What name would you have?”  
  “Archamus.”


End file.
